<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Third Chances by Jaelijn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827480">Third Chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn'>Jaelijn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blake's 7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, Full Series Spoilers, Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Gauda Prime, Stream of Consciousness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2017-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2017-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:56:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after Gauda Prime, Vila muses – on the rebellion, on the Federation, on surviving, and on third chances.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kerr Avon/Vila Restal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Third Chances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I discovered this in my WIP folder in April 2020, sure that I had posted it - but apparently not. So I have backdated it to the last editing date, as all I have done with it in 2020 was fix two typos, and it belongs into that writing period more than it does into my current one. </p>
<p>It was an important piece for me to have written and one that I am very happy with, however, so I hope you enjoy it!</p>
<p>(If you are concerned about the "Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings", consult the endnotes, but they may be spoiler-y for the fic.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You taught me well, didn’t you. Don’t trust anybody, don’t trust the people you call friends, or worse, that call themselves your friends, because they’ll only be your friend for as long as it suits them. Don’t let them come close, don’t let them see the real you, don’t let them see your real weakness, your real strength. Be safe behind armour of your own making. Or perhaps I learned that last one all on my own.</p>
<p>But I was always a fool, wasn’t I, incorrigible. Weren’t we all, eh? I trusted you and I think you trusted me. At least I could admit to making that mistake. You never could, could you? High and mighty, you were. Lot of good it did us, in the end.</p>
<p>It’s easier, on the run. I change my name so often these days, move from place to place, it’s hard to form any attachments. Better that way, now. It’s not <em>me </em>that’s dangerous. Never was. It’s what’s coming after me. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Never used to think being alone was any good. I always preferred to be around people, even if it was criminals. That’s all we were on the <em>London</em>, do you remember? I don’t know if you’d want to, even if you could. You were broken even then, and Blake… Blake never saw it, I suppose. He could be very caught up in himself, couldn’t he? Especially in those early days. He still had everything the Federation had done to him rattling around that holey mind of his. Never asked how any of us had ended up in the holding cell, beyond what type of criminals we were. They don’t just send people to Cygnus Alpha for nothing. Not that Blake could be choosey.</p>
<p>You kept reminding him. Reminding him that we were all criminals, that out of all of us, Blake was the only innocent (or was he?), that we had our quarrels with the Federation, but not because we shared his political views. Not that I ever knew what yours were. Didn’t even know yourself, did you? Hated it when someone told you what they thought you were thinking, too. Thought you’d bite my head off a couple of times, though you never did. Probably wasn’t worth wasting any breath on a harmless Delta thief. Well, can’t stop me now, can you? No more <em>You’re a fool. </em>Can’t even tell me to shut up…</p>
<p>I think, in a way, you hated the Federation more than Blake did. Blake had a grudge, and it was personal, and it was all about morals and values. You… I never could quite get a handle on what you thought of the Federation. You knew they were corrupt, of course, everyone knew that, and you thought everyone was corrupt or corruptible anyway. You never wanted anything to do with politics, you said once, just to me. We were alone. I think we might have had a drink or two that night, or you would never have opened up about your real values. You loved explaining things to me, but never things like that. You always said the only thing you cared about was becoming wealthy beyond anyone being able to touch you, but that wasn’t it at all, was it? Freedom, that’s what you really wanted – what we both wanted. Couldn’t be free in the Federation, could we. Outlawed, maybe, for anyone to shoot us down.</p>
<p>I still am that, I suppose, outlawed. It hasn’t felt much like freedom. The Federation never used to pay much attention to me. Underestimated me, the lot of them. Just Vila, eh? That Delta, that thief, that fool. Can’t be much of a threat. Well, look at them now. I suppose there’s no one else left to hunt. There’s no prison cell, of course, but there might as well be, for all the good it does me. I don’t have a moment’s peace. They’re all looking for me now, the rebels, the Federation. Not that they’ll find me. They think I have Orac. Aren’t even after me for me, I suppose.</p>
<p>I took Orac, but I smashed it and threw the pieces into some ocean. Served the rat right for trying to kill me. You often talked about destroying it near the end, on Xenon – but you couldn’t do it. It was useful, you said, too useful to destroy. You were scared, I think. Orac had been with us for so long, it felt like losing someone else, even if it wasn’t really a person. Then, it would have been only you and me. It was only it and you, eventually, wasn’t it? You were so scared that you’d rather… Orac got all of us killed in the end, didn’t it? Well, not all of us. I’m still here, lucky me. I’m everywhere these days.</p>
<p>I saw our faces on a viscast the other day. Remember when we intercepted the first one? It wasn’t the news, of course – there was always a blackout on anything Blake did. Not that rumours didn’t spread anyway. Never bothered to mention me, those rumours, but the Federation was always thorough even when they weren’t paying attention. It was some sort of information communique for the troops. I remember you scowling at the arrest photos they’d picked. It wasn’t your most flattering side, I admit. You looked like hell! I suppose you felt it, too, when they took the photo. Didn’t allow anyone much to see how you felt after that, eh? You learned to cope with prison just like I did, only not in the way I did. Locked away every part of you that might be vulnerable and snarled at everyone else. I just became more pathetic, until no one thought to bother anymore. Clever technique, that, really. Look how well it worked for both of us.</p>
<p>What happened to all our wonderful dreams, eh? The ones I used to whisper to you at night? I was spinning stories, of course, but you always could tell the ones I made up from the ones I really meant. Where did they all go, the ones you murmured back to me, half asleep, the ones I used to paint out in the brightest colours… A little cottage by the sea – do you remember? No people about, just the birds. We could get a cat, and have a garden, and you could have a room for your tinkering and I could take care of the garden – I know it’s a cliché, the Delta crawling in the mud, but I like living things that don’t eat me. We could get up as late as we liked, go to bed as late as we liked, sit on the beach and listen to the waves and laugh and not worry about being shot in the back. We could play chess, make dinner, and perhaps sneak into town to crack the odd casino together, eh, for old time’s sake? Just so we wouldn’t get out of practice, or get bored. Not that I think I would have got bored, not really. I’m tired of being wanted, I just want to be left alone. Not completely alone, of course. You’d have been there.</p>
<p>But you couldn’t do it, could you? Not even when it became clear we wouldn’t find Blake. Never stopped searching, never gave up. Perhaps Cally stopped you, I was never sure. Perhaps that was only an excuse. You didn’t stop even after she was gone too. You couldn’t let it go, not while the Federation was still there, no more than Blake did, could you? Because Blake… oh, what Blake did to you, he probably never realised! You never told me either, but I knew. Slow-acting poison, isn’t it, hope? It’s started rotting even me, and my ideas were always so much simpler than yours. And that’s with both of us knowing better. At least I always knew I was a fool! More than ever, now. Talking to you, aren’t I?</p>
<p>Did you notice when your dreams became <em>after it is finished, after Servalan is dead, after. </em>I didn’t think so. Can’t say I never cared about any of it, the great Cause, but I dreamed simpler. Not that it matters now, does it? Servalan is gone, and Blake is gone, and the Federation is still here, and the rebellion is still here, and nothing has changed at all. It<em> was</em> all for nothing, like you said ages ago. <em>Told you so, Vila</em>. Look, you could do me a favour and stop haunting me. Don’t deserve that, do I, on top of everything else? Wish you could actually talk to me. In a generation or two, they’ll have forgotten our names. Not Blake, of course, not Servalan, either, but all of us. They’re still using those old photos for the viscasts. Never could capture any of us long enough to take proper videos. None of us have looked like that in years. Yellow isn’t your colour. I’m glad the overalls on the London weren’t yellow; it would have been a right eyesore.</p>
<p>I miss it, I think. Life was simpler, then. Or perhaps I only miss you.</p>
<p>Stupid, wasn’t I. Should have kept my fingers to myself, but I always was a thief, and an incorrigible one at that. What did you expect, putting such a challenge in front of my nose? That unbreachable facade, the lofty, haughty, cutting arrogance, after I had already seen you were broken. Was like closing the vault door after you’ve shown everyone the fragile, precious jewels inside. When you and Blake and Jenna first made off on the <em>Liberator</em>, I thought I’d never see you again – you wouldn’t have come for me if it hadn’t been for Blake. You didn’t really know me, back then, and I thought I’d missed my chance with you. Well, I got a second chance, and I was inside before you even noticed. I remember when you remembered to pull your walls up. Activating all those burglar alarms after I was long past all the doors. I was nasty to you, and you were nasty to me for a while, but it was too late for both of us. I apologised to you for that once, for getting in while your defences were down. It seemed unfair, somehow, breaking into an unsecured vault. Never mind that that’s an ordinary thief’s dream – I like opening locks. You laughed at me for that, I think. I don’t think you minded. Not terribly much, anyway.</p>
<p>It makes it sound so easy. It was never easy, was it, not with you. Not with me, either, I suppose. I’m not good at self-reflection, never was. Don’t think brooding so much is healthy, really. Even if it’s all I seem to do these days, huddled in freighter rooms, dingy lodging houses, under the open air. I used to love the open air. Some of the first doors I opened were to get out of the domes. I was terrified, of course. I would sneak outside for maybe five minutes, then rush back. I wonder what they thought in security central – malfunctions, perhaps. I never used the same door twice. I loved watching the stars and climbing the trees. There were no gardens in the Delta section, you know. Of course you do, I told you that, when we were down on… I forget the name. Doesn’t matter anyway. They’re all the same. Never found someplace nice. It was when we were down on some planet, to catch a breather for once, and I climbed a tree. Now I don’t like the trees anymore. There were too many of them on… On <em>that </em>one. Not that I ever really liked going down on planets. Not after they started shooting at us, and there were things that could kill you <em>everywhere</em>. Even the plants. Or the water. It wasn’t safe. You, of course, were a dome-dweller. Oh, you coped well enough – never let it show, but you weren’t used to the rough ground underfoot, the strange temperatures, the wildlife, much less than I was. Only reasonable, I suppose, for someone who didn’t grow up on Earth. I wonder when they introduced environmental control on Io? Oh, you were curious about all that nature, maybe, but then Blake rarely ever needed you to go down into it. No computers there. Perhaps that cottage by the sea was only my dream, after all, and you would have been much happier on a spaceship. Not that I can really imagine you being happy. Even between us, it was just stolen moments. Fitting, isn’t it.</p>
<p>Don’t know if I ever knew what was going on in your head. Would have been a laugh if I did, eh? Me, of all people. Still, I thought I did, sometimes. I could make your mind shut up, at least – it was you who told me that. Late at night, of course. I don’t even remember whether it was before the Andromedan War or after. You wouldn’t stop pacing. You’d stop to move your chess piece, and start off on your tight circuit again, round and around the room. You were driving <em>me</em> crazy! And I said something – I don’t remember what. Perhaps I should have written it down, for future use. It only got worse over time, didn’t it? I didn’t know how to help anymore. I couldn’t sleep anymore either. But back then, I said something and you… stopped. I don’t remember if we finished the game. I don’t think we did.</p>
<p>I don’t want to think about you, but there is nobody here to make me stop, and I can’t do it on my own. I don’t like being alone, did I ever tell you that? I must have – I hope I did. Lying to myself, perhaps, thinking it would be safe. Always was good at that. Did you ever feel safe around other people? Did you feel safe around me? I think you did, but you never said. I was really mad at you when… You know. Think I even hated you. But I couldn’t have… not ever. I’m not sure if you knew. I… I don’t remember much of... But I’m not angry at you for that, either. I’m not one to hold a grudge; you knew that, didn’t you? Stupid of me, really. Too forgiving, that’s me. You’d never have let me live it down. I can’t forget what happened on the shuttle, but I forgave you in that room on that planet when you… when Blake… I forgave you. Didn’t even hesitate. I don’t remember much but that. I don’t think I made it up, either. If anything, I should have been angrier at you, shouldn’t I? But I wasn’t. None of us deserved what happened to us, not even you. </p>
<p>Why didn’t we run when we had the chance, eh? I’m sure I mentioned the idea – even you must have suggested it a billion times. Why didn’t we turn our back on the Cause, on the rebellion, on the Federation, why didn’t we use what Blake had left us in the <em>Liberator</em>’s storage and settle down somewhere? Why didn’t we just take the <em>Liberator</em> and run; we had Orac, we wouldn’t have needed Cally or Dayna or Tarrant. I liked Cally. And Dayna, too. Never much cared for Tarrant, but we wouldn’t have needed them – you never needed anyone, and they could have gone and fought the rebellion without us. Cally might have been angry at us for leaving and she was scary when she got angry, but she wouldn’t have stopped us if we had tried. She might have tried, but you never let anyone change your mind, not even her. We could have tried. Why didn’t we?!</p>
<p>It was too late for us, wasn’t it? Did we ever have a chance? Eh? In all those years, was there ever a moment where we could have, really? Where neither of us was bound by obligations or sentiments or guilt or revenge? You never would admit to any of those, but it was always you with the <em>After</em>. It wasn’t worth it, none of it was! We were shot at and tortured and trapped and chased and for what? All it did was break us all, and the Federation is still standing, even without Servalan, and despite anything we ever did. Would you say it was worth it? Don’t think you would. But then you never believed we could succeed anyway. Why did we keep trying? Don’t believe in third chances, me.</p>
<p>But the two of us – at least the two of us – were we worth it? Are we, Avon?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Re: the warning. Depending on how you read this fic, it may be Implied/Referenced MCD. However, the fic itself is ambiguous (and you are welcome to read it as no MCD). As it is therefore up to your interpretation, I did not want to warn for it, but in case it may be an issue for you (though you <i>are</i> reading a B7 PGP!), here's your warning.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>